Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 5, Episode 10 - Staircase to Heaven - full transcript

Two turns left before the final.

Place your bets.

10 loses.

4 wins.

That's it for me.

You shouldn't risk everything
on one card, Hannah.

This from the man who
leaves everything to chance?

Only too true, Hannah.

Place your bets. Come on, Magnus.

Russell. Emily.

I'll let mine ride.



I'll add...

four more checks.

2 loses.

Queen wins.

You cheated, Jacob.

What are you talking about?

No one can win a game that's gaffed.

I demand we inspect the cards.

Show him the cards, Jacob.

He won't be satisfied till we do.

We need some more light.

Fanny, would you be so kind?

Yes, Mr. MacDonald.

The filament must be
broken. Try the other lamp.



Yes, sir.

I'll fetch an oil lamp.

Hurry up, Hannah.

It's dark as Hades in here.

Jacob?

Oh, Jacob!

Detective Murdoch.

Dr. Grace.

I'm surprised you were able
to make it here in the storm.

I almost didn't.

You were telephoned as well?

I was here already.

Oh. I see.

Well, then I take it you knew the victim.

Yes. Jacob Oliver.

We went to medical school together.

And is this his establishment?

No, he's a guest of the owner,

Magnus MacDonald.

He lives here with
his sister-in-law,

Hannah Beaumont.

Sir.

When will my guests be allowed to leave?

Detective William Murdoch.

I'm afraid everyone here
will have to be questioned.

A poor end to what was supposed to be

a splendid evening.

These people are friends of yours, Doctor?

A group of us get
together from time to time

to play cards.

What happened?

We were playing when the
storm knocked out the lights.

Suddenly Jacob was gasping
for air and clutching his neck.

Iran to tend to him.
Russell tried to help too.

- Russell?
- Russell Chisholm.

He is the man at the bar with Magnus.

He's a doctor as well.

Hmm. Quite the game of cards.

Your thoughts, Doctor?

Jacob died of blood loss.

Something is wedged in his neck

that likely severed the carotid artery.

I'll know more once I continue
my investigation at the morgue.

I'm ready to take the body now.

I'm afraid your examination

will have to take place here, Doctor.

What do you mean?

The ferry to the mainland
isn't going anywhere

until this storm lets up.

We're here for the night.

Are you quite all right, Doctor?

I was sitting at a table with
my friends, playing cards,

and one of them died in front of me.

No, I'm not all right.

A bloody nuisance.

My whole force is out
dealing with emergencies-

people stranded, washed-out roads.

Cells at Station 2 are flooded.

He needs to be housed.

We don't want the poor sod

catching his death, now, do we?

Certainly not. Ned Watts.

He's laying charges against
Randolph Means tomorrow.

Randolph the Razor?

You've got some stones.

Nothing to do with stones.

It's his neck or mine.

I'll keep an eye on him.

Appreciate it, Thomas.

Crabtree, where the bloody
hell do you think you're going?

Sir, I was going to catch
some of the vaudeville.

They're giving out prizes of coal and ham

to anyone who will brave the storm.

Not tonight, you're not. I need you.

He'll be signing a deposition

at the Crown attorney's office tomorrow.

I'll make sure that he
practices his penmanship.

Does the Razor know that we have him?

Who knows what the Razor knows?

Crabtree, put him in the cells.

Cells?

I'm providin' evidence tomorrow,

testimony that'll put Randolph the Razor

on the sorry end of the noose.

I'm not sitting in any cell.

I suppose I could watch
him just was well here, sir.

Well, don't be mollycoddlin' him.

If Razor gets wind of where I am,

we're all gonna die tonight.

Will you be much longer, Detective?

I'm afraid your guests
will have to stay put

until the weather breaks.

You may as well make
yourselves comfortable.

Hmm.

Very little blood spatter.

I confess to being an
admirer of Conan Doyle.

I take it you're familiar with him.

I'm somewhat acquainted, yes.

Hmm.

I believe the reason for the lack of blood

is that Jacob was clutching at his neck,

trying to save his life.

You were playing a game of faro, yes?

We were.

It's an elegant game in all its simplicity,

a man's fate decided on the turn of a card.

Hmm.

The table's too wide for
anybody to reach across

and stab the victim.

Mr. MacDonald,

I would prefer to conduct
my investigation alone,

if you don't mind.

Just trying to help, sir.

How much longer is this going to go on?

Apparently, until the good
detective is finished with us.

Fanny, would you pour us a drink?

We may as well get comfortable.

Margaret, look, it can't be helped.

I'll have a duty detective-

Margaret?

Margaret!

Mar-Oh...

Bollocks.

We lost the telephone connection.

That's likely due to the storm, sir.

I know it's from the
bloody storm, Crabtree.

I would like to write
out my deposition now,

if I could.

It can wait until morning.

Doubt it can.

Maybe there was no flood at Station 2.

Maybe they just wanted me out of there.

Razor intends on finishing me tonight

and anyone who stands
in his way, I imagine.

Well, he would have to make it through

two highly trained officers
of the law to do that.

You two?

Roly and Poly?

Know why they call him the Razor?

Not for the means which
he dispatches his victims

but because he's in possession
of an extremely sharp mind.

Doubt you two are a match.

You just watch your mouth, sunshine.

- Here he comes!
- Sit down!

Crabtree, answer the door.

Constable Crabtree, get the door.

- You'd best arm yourself.
- I said sit down!

Please, I need refuge!

Uh, we're having a situation.

I know my rights!

You're obliged to help me,

or need I quote from
the Police Services Act?

- The bloody hell?
- Fine, there's a stove here.

You can warm yourself there, old man.

Old man?

I'm but 43.

These are hardly ideal circumstances

for such a delicate procedure.

We have to conduct the
investigation from the mainland.

It's not possible, Doctor.

That's not enough light.

- Where's the fuse box?
- I don't know.

Perhaps it wasn't the storm

that knocked out the lodge's power.

What are you doing?

Miss Beaumont.

This is my studio.

I'm conducting a murder investigation.

I realize that,

but it didn't happen here, did it?

Does anyone recognize this pin?

It had been jammed in
the socket of the lamp.

Any attempt to turn it on
would have tripped the circuit.

Who does it belong to?

Um, it looks like one of
mine. It must have fallen out.

But I don't know anything
about electrical thingamajigs.

Mr. MacDonald asked for more light.

When I went to turn on the first lamp,

it didn't work.

And that's when I left the
room to fetch the oil lamp.

And did you return to
your seat, Miss Glover?

No, I waited by the fireplace.

Where you had a clear line of
sight to Mr. Oliver's chair?

I couldn't see a thing.

I stood where I was and
waited for Miss Hannah

to return with the lamp.

- You had already left the room?
- Yes.

And did you see Miss
Glover upon your return?

As she said, she was
standing by the fireplace.

Hmm.

And Mr. MacDonald?

I had left a box of matches on the mantle.

I stood up to get them.

You knocked over the cigar stand.

- Made quite a clatter.
- I did?

I'm surprised you remember such a detail,

given all the whiskey
you've consumed, Russell.

I struck the match.

Jacob was making dreadful noises

as my sister-in-law
returned with a lamp,

and we saw the ghastly sight.

Then I went into the foyer
and telephoned the police.

Detective Murdoch,

I'm ready.

What is it?

I don't know.

But the depth of the wound indicates

that it entered his neck
with considerable force.

Given the distance across the table,

the killer must have used
some sort of firing mechanism.

A sling, perhaps.

Doctor, have a look at this.

His fingertips are exceptionally smooth,

almost as if they've been sanded down.

I am not a part of any of this.

Keep your voice down, Fanny.

Miss Glover.

What are you not a part of?

I'm nothing more than the maid.

I was just here to count cards

so that everybody else could play.

And to cover for Jacob's cheating.

These cards are marked.

Ah! I knew it!

Bastard!

It was Jacob's idea to involve a servant.

We should have known then he was
planning on queering the game.

Stop this.

Fanny had nothing to do with this.

Let the detective do his job, Hannah.

There's no money on the table,

yet you all had checks to play with.

What were you playing for? Nothing.

Just a friendly game of cards.

Obviously, there was
something significant at stake.

Dr. Grace?

You have something to say?

I'm not speaking to you
as a colleague, Doctor.

What's going on here?

You're right, Detective.

The stakes were quite high.

For God sakes, be quiet, Magnus.

We have nothing to hide, Russell.

What were you playing for, Mr. MacDonald?

A chance to die, sir.

We were playing for the chance to die.

Playing for the chance
to die, Mr. MacDonald?

That will require an explanation.

We belong to the Society
for Metaphysical Exploration.

Quite a lofty name for a
group of people playing cards.

Faro is only an adjunct
to our purpose, Detective.

Our society's based in serious
scientific experimentation.

Which involves cold-blooded murder?

The horrible event of this evening

has nothing to do with our goal.

Scientists and scholars
have long pursued a belief

in the spirit world.

Is your group attempting to
communicate with the dead?

No, not attempting, Detective.

We are succeeding.

By putting ourselves in near-death states,

we are crossing over to the other side.

I find that hard to believe.

At first, so did I.

What happened?

For some years,

I've been trying to communicate
with my dead wife, Charlotte.

I sought out a well-known medium,

but it was a dreadful experience.

The woman was a charlatan.

And then?

Arthur Conan Doyle came to Toronto

to talk about spiritualism and
the presence of an afterlife.

And you attended.

Yes, Hannah and myself,
with my daughter, Lillian.

Conan Doyle was convincing as
he talked about crossing over

to the other side.

The perfect hotel, he called it.

Lillian was a medical student at the time.

She was fascinated.

A few days later, she introduced
us to her fellow students.

Mr. Chisholm and Mr. Oliver.

And Emily Grace.

Dr. Grace?

That surprises you?

I thought her to be a scientist.

Then you have a very
narrow view of science.

The four students thought,
if it were possible

to visit the portals of the other side,

then why not prove it once and for all?

So we started our experiments,
or travelling, as we call it.

So, Crabtree, tell me about
this song-and-dance show

you were supposed to attend.

Oh, sir, I am sorry to be missing it.

Um, duty calls and all,
but they were going to have

a professional regurgitator there.

Sir, it's a man who has
the ability to swallow

almost any object, and
then he can bring it-

I know what a regurgitator is.

Sir, I wonder how the
detective is making out

in the rain.

I'm sure he's well-prepared.

Yes, he always is, sir.

Bloody Murdoch.

Never a hair out of place on him, is there?

Hmm.

He's a fastidious chap, to be sure.

Quite annoying sometimes.

Well, annoying is harsh term.

Stick in the mud.

You ever seen him laugh?

I've seen him smile.

I've even seen him smirk,

so he does project a sense
of being somewhat amused

from time to time.

Man needs to loosen up. Life's too short.

Fancy a wee swallow, Crabtree?

Keep out the cold?

Oh, sir, don't mind if I do.

Ah. Good lad.

Oh, that's refreshing. Thank you, sir.

One thing I will admit is somewhat annoying

about the detective, sir,

is that he's always
telling me to pay attention

to the small details.

"Now, George, pay attention
to the small details," he says.

It's almost as if he forgets lam a writer.

Of course.

The traveler is injected with a solution

of chloral hydrate to
induce a hypnotic state.

Once in a deep sleep,

the traveler is placed into a bath

surrounded by packed ice
to keep the water cold.

Hypothermia protects the internal organs

and increases the comatose state.

- And who supervised this?
- We all did.

We have the medical qualifications.

How long is the traveler
left in this suspended state?

Uh, it varies depending on
the body's size and weight.

Once the heart rate drops
below what we consider viable,

the traveler is brought back.

With this caffeine citrate?

Yes.

The resulting shock
stimulates the heart and lungs.

What does this have to
do with a game of faro?

Faro's a game of chance.

We leave the choice of who
travels each year to fate.

And who was winning this evening?

Jacob Oliver.

Well, it would appear Mr.
Oliver has been granted

a one-way ticket to the great beyond.

How can you willingly subject
yourselves to such risk?

Explorers are risk takers, Detective.

They travel to the ends of the earth.

We are trying to do more than that.

We're trying to find heaven.

So have you warmed yourself?

I have indeed.

I'll have to send you
out when the rain lets up.

Eh, sure.

Drink?

Oh, never touched the stuff.

Uh, I like to keep my mind sharp.

I don't mind the odd dram.

Not bloody likely.

What is it, Crabtree?

Sir, do you have any idea
what the Razor looks like?

Can't say I do. Why?

Because I hear he likes
to keep his mind sharp.

Watts, have you ever seen the Razor?

Not me.

No one knows what the Razor looks like.

Jacob was determined
to be the next traveler.

That's why he cheated.

Surely, you were all
equally anxious to win.

Naturally, Detective.

I was longing to see my beloved wife again.

You hadn't yet travelled?

I was the first to go,
but it was uneventful.

I fell into a deep sleep but saw nothing.

A dull headache was my only reward.

We were too conservative
with the chloral hydrate dose

the first time.

So you increased the dosage.

Who was next?

- Jacob.
- He came back ecstatic.

He'd met Thomas Addison.

Addison? The British doctor?

Yes, one of the pioneers
of adrenal research.

Addison and Jacob had an
exchange on the other side.

Dr. Addison validated Jacob's
ideas on adrenal extracts.

So he says.

I had no reason to doubt him.

He was a liar and a cheat.

Russell and Jacob

were quite competitive
medical researchers, Detective.

Both wanted to ascend
the staircase to heaven.

You don't come across
many master criminals.

No, that you don't.

A man with the Razor's reputation,

you would think that somebody

would have caught a glimpse of him by now.

You know, sir, it's a shame
Detective Murdoch is not here.

We don't need Murdoch.
We're proper coppers.

Oh, yes, but, sir, Detective Murdoch-

there may not be a keener mind
in any police station anywhere.

Hence the reason why I hired him.

And good on you for that, sir.

Have a seat, Crabtree.

I mean, without him,

this station might never
solve a case at all.

Now, hold on, Crabtree.

I wouldn't go that far.

I've solved many cases in my time.

You don't rise to the upper
echelon of the police department

without demonstrating
considerable accomplishment.

Well, yes, sir.

I don't doubt your past achievements

back when you were in your prime.

But I mean recently.

Prime?

Son, what you don't understand

is that I have myriad
other duties that hinder

my ability to sink my teeth into a case.

The politics of the job
is a time-consuming task.

But given the chance...

Well, sir, if you don't mind me saying,

as commanding officer,
surely you have the authority

to take the lead over any case
that comes through the door.

That may be, but have you
considered the human dynamic?

If I were to do that,

wouldn't I be stepping on
Detective Murdoch's toes?

That's what I mean when
I talk about the politics.

I have to think about the
morale of the station as a whole.

Uh, yes, of course, sir.

But that old man, he may be
worth further conversation.

- Right.
- Sit down, Crabtree.

I'll handle it...

when it's time.

I take it you also wanted to win the game.

I take it you also wanted to win the game

and travel to the other
side, Miss Beaumont.

I'm an artist, Detective.

The depiction of inner beauty-

the soul, if you will-

is what I strive for.

A spiritual journey would be invaluable.

And Jacob Oliver's enlightening experiences

no doubt encouraged you all.

Yes.

He was a changed man afterwards,

full of confidence and determination

to further pursue his research.

And Mr. Chisholm?

Well, Russell was desperate
to have the same experience.

The doctors were competitive
in all things, Detective.

- All things?
- Yes.

Including the affections of Lillian.

Lillian. Your niece.

Yes.

There were advances from
both men over the years,

but Lillian's a new woman.

No intention of tying
herself to a marriage.

Her career was always far too important.

And she was also involved
in the experimentations

that you had all been conducting?

Very much so.

Then why isn't Lillian here this evening?

I cannot capture her.

Will you please tell me
what is going on here?

I don't know what you mean, Detective.

You were not forthcoming
about your association

with this group, Doctor.

I didn't see how it
related to Jacob's death.

I am conducting a murder
investigation, Doctor.

You have participated in the
activities of this society

and withheld that information from me.

Our experiments are conducted
with great care and scrutiny

under medical supervision.

We were breaking no laws.

What else is going on here

you've chosen not to share with me?

Nothing.

Who are you protecting?

No one.

Lillian MacDonald was a founding member

of this society.

Why was she not at tonight's game?

I wish she were.

Dr. Grace, answer me.

Lillian didn't return.

Return from where?

She was a traveler.

It was her idea.

What happened?

Dr. Grace, what happened?

I killed her.

I killed Lillian.

Dr. Grace, the truth this time.

What happened to Lillian?

Lillian was the architect
of our experiments.

After Jacob travelled and saw Dr. Addison,

she was determined to go further.

She would have done anything.

She was as competitive as the other two.

More so.

Jacob said he saw a level beyond his reach.

Lillian was resolved to get there.

And how were you involved?

Lillian won the game last year

and asked me to preside
over her transition.

I was touched by her trust.

You had never presided before?

No. It was always Lillian.

She was in charge of the dosage.

She had researched the
chemicals and their effects.

What happened?

She wanted to go deeper.

She asked me to inject her

with a higher dose of chloral hydrate.

And that killed her?

No. I refused.

That wasn't the cause of her death.

Continue.

Once the choral hydrate took effect,

we placed her in the ice bath.

It's time.

Jacob, hand me the caffeine.

I injected the caffeine
citrate in plenty of time.

But it wasn't sufficient to revive her?

On the contrary.

Instead of the normal acceleration,

her heart began to race violently.

She was gasping for breath.

And then her heart stopped.

I couldn't revive her.

We were all shocked.

Hannah was devastated,

and she has never recovered.

She works constantly to bring
Lillian back in sculpture,

and she's never satisfied.

She blames you.

Actually, no.

It's my own conscience
that won't forgive me.

Even after a failed experiment,

you all decided to attempt it again?

I still believe in what
we are trying to do.

The scientific advancement,
the endless possibilities...

it's worth the risk.

Could someone have tampered with the dosage

of caffeine citrate?

Even if that were so,

it would never have provoked
such an extreme reaction.

Doctor, you take
responsibility for her death,

yet you defend your procedure.

She died of heart failure.

Surely, you have an alternate theory.

What are you suggesting?

Given the meticulous way

in which Jacob Oliver was murdered,

it's quite possible the
two deaths are related.

How come you came to
this particular station

on this particular night?

I was seeking shelter.

Nothing more?

You better be telling the truth,

or I'll put you on a charge of vagrancy.

How do you fancy a week in the cells?

I was simply trying to get out of the rain.

Perhaps your judgment is clouded.

I know mine certainly was before
our Lord and Savior convinced me

to give up the bottle.

Have you considered the road to His light?

Sir.

What is it, Crabtree?

Just got a wire from Station House 2.

They're coming back to pick up Watts.

Apparently, they've staunched
the flooding in their cells.

Mr. MacDonald?

What did you tell him?

He found out about Lillian.
I told him the truth.

Why would you bring her into this?

Lillian's death was an accident.

Jacob's was no accident, to be sure.

You mean Mr. Oliver.

Don't forget your station

just because your betters keep dying off.

Russell, mind your tongue.

The murder weapon.

And it belongs to you, Mr. MacDonald.

It's a holdout.

Used by gamblers to cheat at cards.

Yes, but it certainly wasn't
built to shoot objects.

It slips a card into the player's hand

by pressing against this lever.

It can't propel the card across a room.

All it would need is a
stronger, shorter spring,

which it now has.

Anybody could have done that.

This room is never locked.

Everyone knows of my collection.

You were a gambler, Mr. MacDonald?

I was a gambler,

never a cheater, and
certainly not a killer.

What about all this?

This blade was a favorite
of Doc Holliday's.

Concealed it in his sleeve.

These cards belonged to Canada Bill Jones-

roughened on one side so two
cards will stick together.

His fingers were like silk,

sanded down to be more
sensitive to the cards.

Just like Jacob Oliver's fingers.

You realized he was attempting

to cheat you out of your chance
to see the gates of heaven,

so you killed him.

I'm not that desperate, Detective.

Lillian, Jacob, and Russell
were the determined ones.

The holdout would have enough
force to fire across the table

and pierce Jacob's neck.

But I don't see how that helps us.

If anything, it places
everyone back under suspicion.

Not everyone.

Whoever killed Jacob Oliver

would have had to have been standing

almost directly in front of him.

Based on where you were seated
at the time of his murder,

you can be exonerated.

I must confess, I'm relieved.

As am I, Detective.

Straight on target would
mean either Hannah or Russell

was the perpetrator.

Hannah was out of the room,

so the only other possibility is...

Mr. Chisholm.

The two of you were scientific rivals.

A little healthy competition, yes.

Nothing worth killing over.

You were also rivals
for Lillian's affections.

I could have had Lillian if I wanted her.

You and Mr. Oliver were both
present at Lillian's death?

Yes. An unfortunate result.

So she was just the subject
of an experiment, then?

I beg your pardon.

Mr. Chisholm, you don't
seem particularly affected

by either Lillian's untimely death

or Mr. Oliver's murder.

So you think I killed them?

Do you have any idea what
this could possibly be?

No.

Not at all.

Russell!

Is he alive?

Barely.

Hurry, Russell!

Here.

Who killed you?

- Move!
- What are you doing?

Trust me!

No.

I don't understand.

It should have worked.

His heart's stopped.

It won't circulate if
the heart isn't beating.

Beat, damn you. Beat!

What did you give him, Russell?

Beat!

Beat!

Beat, damn you!

Beat! Beat!

Beat!

- Detective!
- Detective!

Detective Murdoch.

Inspector Graves asked me to
convey his appreciation, sir.

We could have held him
the rest of the night.

No need.

My inspector wants the glory on this one.

Come along, sir.

I'll escort you to the wagon.

That's not necessary.

Oh, I don't mind.

Sir, arm yourself.

Good God.

It worked.

What did you use to bring him back?

I took an extract of a
sheep's adrenal gland.

Jacob was right.

You gave him adrenaline?

You gave it Lillian too, didn't you?

You killed Lillian.

I did not.

Jacob administered the adrenaline.

But you knew,

and you let me shoulder
the burden of her death.

You and Jacob killed Lillian.

Dr. Grace.

Assemble the rest of the Society
for Metaphysical Exploration.

You're not needed here.

Always willing to help out
a fellow officer of the law.

I never did get your name, Constable.

I never gave it.

The next one goes right through you,

Mr. Bloody Teetotaler.

Two murders have occurred at this lodge.

Two murders that are connected.

What are you talking about?

Lillian MacDonald died a year ago.

She died of an overdose of adrenaline.

Russell, is this true?

It was Lillian's idea.

But is it true?

They were all involved-

Russell, Jacob, and Lillian.

No! I don't believe it.

Lillian would never have taken such a risk.

She would never have abandoned me.

Well, maybe you didn't know
her as well as you think.

I knew her best.

I loved her best.

Miss Beaumont, may we
have a word in private?

What you say to Hannah,
you say to all of us.

Very well.

Miss Beaumont, you killed Jacob Oliver.

You loosened the light bulb of one lamp

and rigged the second with Fanny's hairpin

to blow the circuit.

You knew the first lamp wouldn't work...

Yes, Mr. MacDonald.

So you waited for Fanny
to walk to the second lamp.

You then feigned your exit...

I'll fetch an oil lamp.

Timed perfectly with
Fanny pulling the switch.

But you didn't leave the room.

You stepped back into the darkness

and stood right behind Mr. Chisholm.

You then kicked over the ash stand

to mask the sound of the holdout's release.

You then left the room...

Hurry up, Hannah. It's
dark as Hades in here.

Returning moments later with the oil lamp.

Oh, Jacob!

And in the end, the person
that killed Jacob Oliver

was the person with the perfect alibi.

Where is the evidence?

Miss Beaumont,

is this your sculpting tool?

I suppose it must be.

How is it came to be broken?

I work with difficult materials.

Oh, I see.

Well, then, perhaps you can tell me,

how is the broken piece ended
up in Jacob Oliver's throat?

He used my precious girl

to further his quest for scientific glory.

Lillian wanted us to take her
right to the edge of death.

But you should have looked after her.

You shouldn't have gambled with her life.

The two of you killed her.

Detective, arrest this man.

I'm afraid I cannot.

Lillian MacDonald's death
must be ruled an accident.

I will not accept that.

Mr. Chisholm and Mr. Oliver's
actions were irresponsible...

but not illegal.

Your actions, however, were,

and I'm afraid I have
to place you under arrest

for the murder of Jacob Oliver.

You caught Randolph Means? The Razor?

Indeed, sir, with the inspector's help.

Oh, good of you to mention it, Crabtree.

When Watts was transferred here,

the Razor got wind of it.

He commandeered a police wagon.

He placed an accomplice
here in the station.

Then, sir, he disguised himself
as an officer of the law.

Well, the Razor's a rather
elusive fellow, George.

How did you spot him?

The shoes, sir. Hardly police issue.

The shoes? Very good, George.

You see, by paying attention
to the smallest detail-

Oh, here we go.

- What's so amusing?
- Oh, nothing, sir.

Fancy another drink, Crabtree?

- Well earned.
- Certainly, sir.

So, Murdoch,

I believe our jail cells
have a new occupant.

Caught yourself a murderer as well.

I did, sir.

Did you pick up on some small detail

someone missed?

No, sir.

Finding the crucial detail was the result

of a rather unusual occurrence...

outside of my body, if you will.

Go home, Murdoch.

Get some rest.

Yes, sir.

"As the life ebbed out of me,
I seemed to drift away from...

"and I could see my body...

"No fear as I moved away from
Dr. Grace and Dr. Chisholm.

"I felt a heightened feeling of awareness,

an intensity I had never experienced."

Dr. Grace.

What did you see...

when you died?

Please.

What did you see?

Heaven.

Truly?

I saw heaven,

or at least my imagining of it.

How was it?

It was wonderful.